


Calibration

by platypus (kite)



Series: kinkmeme fic and commentfic [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Masturbation, kinkmeme fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kite/pseuds/platypus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He still slept more than he was used to, and he still woke up like <i>this</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calibration

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Doctor Who kinkmeme, sizeofthatthing.livejournal.com, in 2009.
> 
> Prompt: Eleven, masturbation. This younger body has certain needs, leading to a nightly habit long since abandoned.

The Doctor yawned and stretched, struggling with an uncharacteristic disorientation as he awoke. Where was he, he wondered muzzily, and who'd been drooling on his pillow? Awareness returned slowly: the familiar hum of the TARDIS, the crisp sheets of his own bed. The list of potential pillow-droolers was woefully short. He'd slept for six hours and fourteen minutes, and the only reason he was awake now was that the awkward sprawl of his body had become decidedly uncomfortable. He shifted his hips, trying to reduce the pressure on his— _Oh._

Bugger. Not again. 

Newly regenerated, he wasn't surprised that some of his biological systems needed recalibration. A few weeks on, he was starting to think he might be running out of _newly_ , but then, regeneration was never easy for him. He still slept more than he was used to, and he still woke up like _this_. 

Rolling to his back, he glared down at the prominently tented sheet. If he didn't take care of things now, he knew from unfortunate experience, the problem would just recur at the most embarrassing moment possible. Fixing the TARDIS, or running from danger with Amy, or—he winced—at an intergalactic ceremonial dinner, hastily excusing himself to the loo. 

Sighing, he tossed the sheet aside. His cock waited, stubbornly erect, arching toward the ceiling. If Amy knocked on the door...

Then what? He tried not to imagine her throwing off her dressing gown and crawling up his body, her long hair cascading over his naked skin. He could almost hear the groan of satisfaction she'd make as she slid down onto him—

His own groan brought him back to reality. Calibration. Right. Surely his overactive reproductive system would settle down after a few more sessions. He reached resolutely for his cock, putting everything out of his mind except the feel of it in his hand, the way the soft skin slid over the achingly firm core, the faint double throb of his pulse. He had to admit, it felt good simply to be aroused. So hard, so _alive_ under his own touch. This was a perfectly normal biological function, nothing to be ashamed of. It made him, he thought wryly, feel young again. 

And there was no reason he shouldn't enjoy the inevitable. He ran two fingers lightly up the bottom of his shaft, then caressed just beneath the head, where he was most sensitive. His cock twitched with a rush of pleasure, seeming to swell fractionally further. Settling back, he took an easy, comfortable grip and began to stroke in earnest. There was a moment's exquisite satisfaction, and then an urgent, driving need for _more_. He sped up his hand, sliding up and down, over and over. As he watched, a bead of moisture formed at the tip, and he gave himself several tight, focused strokes, encouraging the drop of clear fluid to gather and grow. Just as it trembled and began to roll to the side, he caught it with his thumb, spreading it slickly over the head of his cock. Intense pleasure jolted through him—his stomach muscles jerked—and it was all too much, too fast; he snatched his hand away, trying desperately to hold back. For a moment he thought he was going to come anyway; his fingers dug into the mattress as he braced himself for the surge of release, the hot splash on his belly and thighs, but slowly the feeling ebbed. He lay there, panting, aching for the climax he'd barely averted. 

There was no point, he thought dizzily, in conditioning himself to come embarrassingly fast, though his throbbing cock might have disagreed. When he'd finally caught his breath, he encircled his shaft loosely with his fingers, brushing over the taut skin. He was still close, desperately hard, sensitive to the slightest touch. Avoiding the slippery head, he began a slow, careful rhythm, keeping himself on that plateau. Another drop of fluid swelled, then dripped down unimpeded. 

Eventually, irresistibly, his hips started to move, pushing his cock into his hand. He held it tighter, stroking faster, the tension of imminent climax rising again in the pit of his stomach. This time he let it happen, pumping himself firmly, feeling his balls grow heavy and tight as he approached the point of no return. Oh, yes, he was going to come, he was going to come _now_ —

His cock pulsed so hard it swelled in his hand, and he hastily pointed it upward, groaning in relief as he spent himself in thick spurts over his stomach. He squeezed and stroked, drawing out every last drop, and when it was over he collapsed back to the bed, gasping. 

When he could, he retrieved a flannel from the bedside table and cleaned up. He was really doing this too often, he thought, if he was making preparations ahead of time. Still, it was better than having to change the sheets. Which had also happened a time or two. And now, perhaps, he'd make it through the day without wishing for looser trousers. 

Though if Amy wore that little skirt again...

He sighed, and headed for the shower.


End file.
